


i ask myself what would you do if you had more time?

by Purpleskiesofdragons



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Hurt No Comfort, One Shot, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, hehe everything hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 20:54:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20297785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purpleskiesofdragons/pseuds/Purpleskiesofdragons
Summary: Based on a Tumblr prompt.In which everyone but yourself can see how much time you have left. And Peter, Tony, Dr. Strange, and the Guardians are stranded on Titan...





	i ask myself what would you do if you had more time?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AkozuHeiwa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkozuHeiwa/gifts).

> based off: “Imagine if we lived in a world where you could see the exact date when everyone is going to die except for yourself. And then one day people start acting nice to you. Like, really nice.”
> 
> It’s changed a bit to fit the plot, but eyyyyyy here we go 
> 
> comments and kudos are always appreciated <3

Peter really wished that he’d stayed on that school bus. Holding onto a massive, purple alien with a shiny glove who happened to trying to wipe out half the universe with his magical rock collection was not on Peter’s list of “oh, this is fun, let’s do it again!” activities. It definitely was not when he was currently lying in the sand and grit of Titan, holding onto half-dead two aliens, watching as his only surviving father figure (_Mr. Stark, what are you doing—_) fought the Mad Titan. And was especially, most importantly, not when the little set of numbers over his allies’ heads was slowly tick-ticking down, down, down...

Peter was always able to see time. When he was little, he’d stare, entranced, into the small glass fishbowl that held a single, angry beta fish (the other one had mysteriously disappeared overnight). One day, he noticed the tiny, almost unreadable set of numbers over the fish’s head— **_17:03_**. Bemused, he’d gone to Uncle Ben to ask what the numbers meant, but Uncle Ben just shook his head. _Later_, he said, and offered to take Peter to the park. Peter happily obliged.

Exactly seventeen hours and three minutes later, while he was at school, Aunt May quietly dumped the remains of a limp beta fish into the trashcan outside.

The second time Peter had noticed the numbers would be the last time he ever took them for granted. Uncle Ben had been helping him with his homework, patiently explaining the formula to calculate volume, when the door burst open with an ear splitting crash, and a rain of bullets buried themselves in the table. Uncle Ben had shoved Peter underneath the table, thrusting his cell phone at Peter. _Nine one one_, he kept shouting. Peter could only watch in horror as he finally took notice of the diminishing numbers above his uncle’s head as the bandit approached closer, cocking his gun in one hand. _No_, his mind screamed. _Turn around, the numbers, wait—_

The words stuck like thick cotton in his throat as Uncle Ben fell with a sickening thump to the unforgiving kitchen floor, the nine and one (_why didn’t you finish the call?_) mocking him silently from the phone’s cracked screen.

_1:07. 1:06. 1:05._ Peter drew in a ragged inhale, watching with bated breath as Thanos moved closer to Tony. He’d already tried to scream himself hoarse when the blade had gone into his stomach, but nothing except a raspy screech fell out. The gauntlet was slowly raising, stones glowing (_just like the phone_). _This can’t be it. Peter, you idiot, do something—_

“Wait.” Thanos’s head raised slowly, eyes shifting slowly toward Dr. Strange, who was sitting up weakly in the rubble. “I will give you the stone if you promise to spare his life.”

“No tricks,” Thanos rumbled, turning toward Dr. Strange. The doctor gave a single, affirmative nod as he raised his fingers, a luminescent green stone flicking to life in his palm. Thanos stepped closer, extending the gauntlet.

(_Dr. Strange’s hands were minuscule compared to Thanos’s when the Titan took the stone from his shaking hands—_)

Thanos’s smile was something Peter would never forget as he disappeared in a cloud of black and blue smoke.

“Why did you do it?” Tony was sitting up, fingers gingerly melding together his armor and attempting to staunch the deep cut. Dr. Strange’s head was lowered in defeat, and his voice was hoarse when he responded.

“It was the only way.” Peter, at the moment, saw billions of questions flickering through Tony’s head, so many questions that he too wanted answers to. _Why did Thanos want that green stone? Why was he so strong? Why did he stab Mr. Stark?_

_5\. 4. 3. 2... _Peter turned his head sharply as the hairs on his arms stood up, unease rocking through him. The alien girl was looking around in confusion, seemingly unaware that her lower body was slowly disintegrating. Within seconds, the numbers over her head flickered and died and fell into the soil with her.

The strange tattooed gray alien was next to go.

“Steady, Quill—“ Tony was standing up, moving forward towards the human. 

“Aw, man.” There went the Footloose man who had held a blaster to his head.

“There was no other way.” Dr. Strange, bleeding from the head and broken against a pile of rocks, became little more than the stone around him.

Peter stared down at his hands as his spider sense began to throb. It had started out as a dull ache, but when the gray alien had... dusted (was that the term?), it only got worse, until it was a searing blaze of agony that was turning his organs to pure charcoal. Distantly, he felt himself slipping, only to be caught by strong, familiar arms.

“Mr. Stark, I don’t feel so good,” he muttered, fumbling at his mentor. “You’re going to be fine, kid.” There was panic there. Poorly disguised. _What did that mean?_

“I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go, please, Mr. Stark—“ _Everything hurt, couldn’t Mr. Stark make it better? _“Please, I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go—“ _What was happening? Would he be dusted too—_

Through a cloudy haze, he looked up, staring at the little clock hovering teasingly over Tony’s head. A breath of relief escaped him when he saw the years, months, days, weeks, hours, minutes, seconds—

(_Tony was looking at Peter’s clock, too. Why was he crying?_)

“I’m sorry.”


End file.
